


we let the waters rise

by cgsf



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgsf/pseuds/cgsf
Summary: “I’ll ignore the fact that we’re somehow on a first-name basis now and simply ask—Would you like to come in?”It was not a strange question, anticipated even, but it clawed at Will, under his fingernails and across his scalp. He didn’t want to be in there. Looking past Hannibal, Will could see the shadows of years, words, threats, and veiled intentions lingering beyond the threshold. He shook his head against the request and instead made himself stand. He felt an inescapable urge to get out of here.-----After the fall, Will wakes up in Hannibal's office in Baltimore in 2013, five years earlier.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	we let the waters rise

Will opened his eyes. Air entered his lungs in frantic, short gasps as he attempted to dispel the feeling of slowly suffocating. He could feel his legs shaking uncontrollably, and the effort to remain standing escaped him without warning. He reached a hand out as his knees hit the ground and attempted to steady himself on his surroundings, but he had snapped his eyes shut soon after waking, afraid of what his mind was showing him; and so his hand closed around empty air until he fell forward and he caught himself with his palms only barely before his face hit the carpet.

The sound of a door opening behind him went unnoticed for a moment as he continued to catch his breath, but his pulls were too quick and he was beginning to feel the queasy pressure building up behind his eyelids which were still shut.

“Will?”

Even though he could still feel the deep chill crawling under his skin, the jacket he wore pulled tightly across his frame as he knelt, constricting his breathing even further. He leaned back and began to urgently pull at the buttons, sweat beginning to collect along his hairline. He managed to get it off his shoulders, but it caught itself on his arms due to his graceless movements.

Suddenly, he felt a strong hand grip his upper arm and pull him backward. He fell, unceremoniously unbalanced, and a short yelp escaped him before he could stop it.

“Will.”

Another hand reached for his other arm before he could fall too far, and he was brought back to lean against something solid. Will clenched his jaw, fear and panic almost at a breaking point, and fought weakly against the hold. He was surprised by how much strength he could muster in that moment, so soon after the fight and the fall, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Breathe, Will”

_He knew that voice._

But in that moment, he couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of his gasping, the constriction of his arms, and the warmth pressed along his back. His jacket was tugged loose from where it had trapped him and was laid next to him on the floor. The feel of cool air across his hair registered a moment before he saw his hat placed quickly on top of his jacket.

“Slow.”

In the next moment, a warm palm was placed across his chest and he felt himself choke. A sob escaped him unbidden.

“Hannibal?”

His own arms came up and grabbed onto the ones encircling him from behind. They were warm and solid, but he wasn’t sure he could stop the cascade of terror and agony cresting within his chest. He tightened his hold, hoping it was enough to relay the desperation clawing out of his lungs.

“Listen to my breathing, Will.”

But he couldn’t. His own gasping clashed with the roar in his head like that of wind. He wasn’t sure it had ever stopped after the fall. One of Hannibal’s hands lifted from its place around his shoulder and brushed his hair back from his forehead, slipping slowly into the damp curls with ease. The warmth of his palm and the movement of his fingers caused Will to lean his head back further into the embrace. He entwined the fingers of his right hand with the hand Hannibal was pressing tightly against his chest.

“Let it go.”

He wasn’t sure he could. He could still see the older man standing in front of him, the openness in his gaze, the warmth in his voice as he spoke to him. He could still feel the connection between them, the unspoken clarity of understanding.

But as the room around him began to take shape within his own perception, his heart ached with the burn of something slipping slowly from his grasp. No matter how tightly he clutched, it faded further into the depths of his own mind, behind doors he didn’t have keys to anymore.

He was no longer in the deep, no longer weighed down by the waters—there was no longer any blackness closing in around him. Instead, the weight of Hannibal around him was akin to the brace of a wall, unyielding and firm. The warmth seeped through their clothes and under his skin, chasing away the ice burrowing in his veins. Slowly, other sounds betrayed the silence around them until he could recognize the sound of Hannibal’s own breaths painting the back of his neck. They were steady and slow, filled with a deliberateness that was achingly familiar to Will. He latched onto their permanence, letting the vestiges of _before_ ebb beneath the reality of _now_ happening around him. A bone-deep lethargy began to rise within him and he slumped further into the other man’s hold.

The agony within him spread like a warm blanket through his limbs until it evened out, transforming into a longing grief that pulled him under. He could now hear his own sobs filling the room, and feel the shaking in his body changing from panic to sorrow without his consent. He just wanted it to end. The overwhelming act of experiencing was setting out to drown him before he could process what was even happening. He told himself to remember what he’d been taught—to ground himself in the _now._

Hannibal’s breaths, his hands—they gave Will respite enough to open his eyes. He needed his vision to overwhelm his other senses. But as the room came into focus—the dim, yellow lighting, the uncomfortable reception chairs, the walnut décor—it clawed at him like a dream he forgot he had. A memory he was supposed to remember, but was so far buried he couldn’t remember why he’d chosen to forget it. He didn’t want to remember, but it came to him unsolicited.

_Standing in the foyer, he gasped and looked around. The last thing he remembered was standing on a beach in Grafton, observing the totem pole of corpses left by their newest killer. He remembered the arrangement of the bodies, the limbs locked in a macabre display of legacy and contempt. It didn’t bother him too much—except the eyes staring back at him from the summit: that one was significant._

_But now he looked around Hannibal’s office waiting room; confusion and panic peaked within him before he could grasp what was happening. He couldn’t remember how he got here, or even what day it was. He heard a door open behind him, the familiar sound echoing in the silence._

_“Will?”_

Will took in a long, slow breath and allowed his body to sink into itself as he attempted to relax. He focused on the up and down movements of Hannibal’s own breathing behind him, the fingers moving slowly through his curls, the palm caressing his chest in easy circles. It was entirely too intimate for them. It caused the ache inside him to grow in a way that wasn’t wholly uncomfortable.

“Better?”

He couldn’t answer just yet, but he knew Hannibal could read him without it. Instead, he turned his head to the side so he could hide further in the other man’s arms. He wanted to disappear—beneath the tide of sorrow, beneath the impending embarrassment he could feel itching from under the surface. Hannibal’s breaths now caressed across his forehead, adding slight movement to Will’s bangs where they were once plastered. The humidity of his exhales added an extra layer of stillness, slowing the stutter of his own breaths and causing his hold to loosen. He closed his eyes again, allowing himself a moment to gather his sanity close in hopes that it hadn’t escaped him entirely.

He remembered the darkness, the agonizing cold, all the blood. Even as he retrieved the moment, he felt it whisper like smoke, ebbing like a memory from a lifetime away.

“Will?”

Will’s eyes shot open. With a gasp, he wrenched himself from Hannibal and backed himself up against the far wall next to a set of leather-cushioned chairs. He anticipated the well of panic to rise again, but it was curbed by the soft look the other man was leveling on him. He could see past the edge of concern, to the confusion and intrigue written across his gaze. He knew that face well. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he began to see everything. He thought at first it was Hannibal’s choice to let the walls down in front of him, but as he looked at him now, he could feel the power of his own understanding of him. The significance of his own ability to read Hannibal. It wasn’t his empathy. It was the years they had between them, the desire to know someone at that level, and the willingness to be known the same.

“Hannibal.”

The smile on the other man’s face broadened a fraction, before he took in Will’s crumpled form before him.

“I’ll ignore the fact that we’re somehow on a first-name basis now and simply ask—Would you like to come in?”

It was not a strange question, anticipated even, but it clawed at Will, under his fingernails and across his scalp. He didn’t want to be _in there._ Looking past Hannibal, Will could see the shadows of years, words, threats, and veiled intentions lingering beyond the threshold. He shook his head against the request and instead made himself stand. He felt an inescapable urge to _get out of here._ He knew Hannibal was probably wondering why he was there, what was going on, and many other thoughts, but he didn’t feel compelled to offer anything at the moment.

He eyed the exit door instead.

Hannibal hummed quietly in acknowledgement, but made no move to get any closer. Instead, he opened the closet behind him and grabbed his coat. Will eyed his own on the floor in embarrassment. He quickly snatched it up, along with his hat, and looked back at him.

“Let’s take a walk.”

Will was unsurprised that Hannibal could read him so well—he always had. So he followed him out of the office and into the cold night, donning his jacket against the sharp wind that greeted them. They turned down the sidewalk with a slow pace, their steps echoing off the buildings they passed. The even click of Hannibal’s dress shoes sounded louder than his own, and he latched onto the steady rhythm, letting everything else fade from his consciousness. He wasn’t sure if Hannibal was leading him somewhere specific. He wasn’t sure he cared enough to ask.

The silence stretched alongside them, passing with ease. It settled across Will’s shoulders in a way that felt entirely intentional on Hannibal’s behalf. Minutes passed. The city lights of downtown Baltimore began rising in the distance as they continued toward its center. He felt the crawl of city life edge past them; the steady stream of cars and people would have formerly enveloped Will in a fog of panic and unease, but not tonight. His thoughts were elsewhere tonight.

As they continued slowly down the walk, Will stole a quick look over at the other man. Hannibal was looking straight ahead, breath fogging out before him in even puffs. He looked calm. He looked entirely comfortable.

With a sigh, Will returned his gaze forward and acknowledged Hannibal’s unspoken attempt to give Will time to speak his mind. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the night sky above them.

“Do you ever think about the possibility of alternate universes?”

He felt Hannibal turn to look at him, as if he hadn’t expected Will to say anything at all. But the question did not go ignored. He could feel the man running it over and over in his mind, as if he was dissecting it for Will’s true intentions.

“That there is another me walking tonight with another you?”

Will looked down again, this time focusing on the tiny rocks across their path, kicking a few thoughtlessly as they continued forward.

“I guess, but not specifically.” He paused. “That not only the big decisions we make could alter our paths, but even the tiny ones? The little choices we make can change the person who we become?”

He watched one of the rocks escape the path and make an attempt across the street to his left. It ended up near the dividing line, blending in among the other debris scattered there. 

“Is that what is troubling you? The person you might become?”

Hannibal still hadn’t turned to look at him. As if he was afraid to ruin the moment. It felt significant, and Will wanted to be surprised that Hannibal could sense Will’s trouble. That he could sense Will was struggling with something more than his current situation with work. But Hannibal had always been perceptive.

“Yes. I mean, yes and no. I know who I am. I know who I will become. I’m not afraid of that. I’m not bothered by… _him._ I worry that something I do might change me in a way I’m not ready for.”

Hannibal nodded.

“Everything we do changes us. The person you were yesterday is not the one you are today.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Will felt his frustration begin to rise, but he only blamed himself. They always spoke with veiled words, and today was no different. He wanted to be honest and explain himself, but he didn’t see an outcome that wasn’t… surreal. Everything about tonight was surreal.

“Then tell me what you mean.”

This time Hannibal did turn to look at him. He eyed Will with intention—urging Will to dispel the confusion between them. Will sighed softly and turned away. He watched a few cars pass.

“Maybe I think too much,” he dismissed. He hated that he couldn’t explain himself accurately. He hated that the words were on the tip of his tongue, but they drifted between his fingertips just as easily as his last dream. He frowned and tried to distract himself by counting the commuters instead. But Hannibal was Hannibal and he wasn’t one to ignore an invitation to dig. And Hannibal loved to dig into Will.

“Don’t write off your thoughts so easily.”

It sounded like an attempt to reassure a lack of confidence, but Will could read the question between each syllable. And that questioning was enough to compel him to at least use Hannibal as a sounding board for his own confliction.

“I know what happens to me. I know who I’m going to become. I’m worried that something I do will intrinsically set me on a path that leads somewhere else.”

Wasn’t everyone afraid of that? The weight of responsibility for your own destiny. It sounded vague and pretentious even to himself as the words filled the air between them. He hoped Hannibal could hear the sincerity in his earnestness.

“Why are you so sure of this hypothetical Will Graham?”

“He’s not so hypothetical to me. He’s me.”

They came to an intersection in the sidewalk and paused before the crosswalk. The bright orange palm that greeted them from across the street stared back at them expectantly and Will tried to ignore the urge to change the subject. He rolled his eyes at his attempt to read the sign as an actual _sign_ that he needed to stop before he got ahead of himself—before he could reveal more than he should—and tightened his hands in his pockets, clenching his fingers to relieve some of the frustration.

“What’s changed?” Hannibal asked as he turned to watch the traffic cross to their left, some of his hair having escaped the dry hold that kept it away from his eyes during the day. The blond strands moved gently in the wind. It pierced something inside Will with such ferocity, he forgot for a moment where he was. _When_ he was. He cleared his throat and followed as Hannibal began crossing the street before them.

“I have. I’ve changed. I’m not the Will Graham from last week. Or even yesterday.”

They arrived again on the sidewalk and continued forth, gentling their pace now that they were out of the street and out of the line of traffic, heavy from the weight of a Friday night. Will wondered how far they had walked already.

“I can see that. Who is this new Will Graham? He seems as lost as before.”

“I’m not lost.”

Hannibal leveled him with a serious look—a look that said much more than he was willing to share. It seemed as if the man had come to terms with the gravity of their conversation, with the nature of Will’s strife, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

“Yes, you are.” He asserted, his voice resolute. “You may not be lost in the same forest you were before, but you’re lost somewhere. In this moment, even. You stand here, looking at me in a way you never have before.”

That brought Will up short— “How am I looking at you?”

Hannibal gave his own sigh. An earlier Will might have been uncomfortable in assuming he was beginning to bother the other man. But this Will could hear the concern behind the breath, the weight of Hannibal’s thoughts settling around them just as Will’s had.

“Well, for starters—You’re looking _at_ me.”

“What does that mean?”

Will knew exactly what he meant, but he wanted him to say it.

“Your avoidance of eye contact seems to have vanished overnight. You look at me now as if you are looking right into me,” Hannibal explained. His words carried a softness that was very unlike him. It almost felt like vulnerability to Will, but there were very few things that could make the man before him vulnerable.

“Maybe I’m just feeling confident,” Will offered.

He couldn’t explain to this Hannibal why he felt he could look right into the older man’s soul. He could see the boy forced to rage against the world, the young man struggling to make his own way through youth without a family, and the man assume a suit for so many years he forgets the boy underneath it all. He sees it all.

“You’re avoidance was never out of a lack of confidence, Will.”

Will wondered if he could tell him everything. The one man who had never judged Will’s thoughts. Who’d never thought he was truly insane. However, the thought pierced him with longing. The longing to not only be read, but to be understood. And they had finally reached that point in their relationship, until it was unfairly wrenched from him. The years between them knocked against his consciousness with a need to not be ignored.

“What are you saying?”

Hannibal stepped closer to Will to allow a young couple to pass them on the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction. Their laughter echoed behind them as they went, and it made Will feel increasingly out of place. He wanted to feel comforted by their joy, but it fell hollow inside his head.

“You’re not afraid anymore.”

“I’ve never been afraid of you.”

“You’ve been afraid of everyone your entire life.”

Will shook his head and looked away once again. He couldn’t help but feel flayed open even now. He wanted to argue the point, but he knew the truth of Hannibal’s words and he knew Hannibal knew he did. Even now, they stood before the same edge.

“But you’re not afraid anymore.” Hannibal repeated. The words were leveled between them like an accusation. Will felt it looking right at him. It made him feel like they were on uneven footing again, but this time Hannibal was the one with the lead.

He caught the other man’s look. It was just as pointed. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see behind the look, but it wasn’t that. He was sure Hannibal would be thrilled to see Will more at ease with himself, but instead what he saw was something else. It was dark and other. It was poignant and ethereal, as if the man was unlocking a door between them he’d been holding closed since the day they’d met.

“What do you see when you look at me?” Hannibal asked. It was weighted by a subtle shift of uncertainty. Will was unsure how to respond. He knew what he was asking, but he wasn’t sure where this was leading them.

“I see _you._ ”

Will didn’t immediately explain. The words drifted between them with a sense of understanding. He let the words hang there, let Hannibal sift through them on his own. He watched as the words eventually landed, painting that same softness to Hannibal’s expression, making them both feel utterly exposed. It emboldened Will.

“I used to think I had to wait for you to trust me. That you would show me who you were when you wanted to. But I’ve come to realize that it wasn’t that at all. I unlocked that door all on my own.”

Though there was an unshakable insecurity to Hannibal’s countenance, he didn’t let it stall their progress.

“And what did you find?”

“You.”

“And that doesn’t frighten you?”

He didn’t ask why Hannibal would think it would frighten him. He knew what Hannibal was thinking.

“Maybe at one point it did. But not anymore.”

The answer seemed to mollify Hannibal for only a moment. He appeared to be collecting his thoughts, as if the words only answered part of his question.

“Then why are you still lost?”

Will wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to deny it.

“I am adrift.”

“And yet you are no longer at war with yourself.”

Hannibal gave him a small smile, as if the revelation wasn’t meant for him. Will could see something settle in his gaze that made his breath halt for a moment. It had depth and breadth—and as Hannibal turned to look up at the stars above them, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of Will’s own gaze any longer, Will felt himself edge a little closer to him.

“No, I’m not.”

Hannibal did nothing that acknowledged he was aware of Will’s movement, but Will knew the man wasn’t oblivious.

“Then what has set you adrift?”

“I don’t know.”

“You _do_ know. But you don’t want to tell me.”

Will chose not to respond. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t explain it, either.

“What can I do for _this_ Will? This man who is lost in the waves of his own becoming?”

It felt imbued with a hint of humor, like a shared secret, but the conspiratorial tone left Will bereft. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Hannibal accepting Will, accepting the path of the conversation, without asking the obvious questions. He was grateful for it, though, since he didn’t have answers to give—he didn’t understand it himself.

“Why do you assume I need something from you?”

“You brought yourself to my door. At least, something brought you here, whether or not it was you, is only part of the answer. You are looking for something, even if you don’t know what that is yet.”

“Don’t get philosophical on me, _Doctor_.”

Of all the things said tonight, this was what caused the older man to stop. Will knew it wasn’t the choice of words or the title, but the intersection their conversation had met. The path was undoubtedly leading to this point, and Will could feel it. Hannibal waited for Will to stop and turn to look at him. They were facing each other for the first time since they left the office, seeing each other in full once again. When Hannibal spoke next, his words were colored by a sense of gravity.

“Would you like me speak directly, then?”

Instead of answering, Will simply waited. He knew Hannibal didn’t need his permission.

“You experienced something today, whether it was in Grafton or somewhere else. It was something so _profound_ , you showed up unannounced, unplanned at my door. Then you proceeded to have a complete meltdown in my waiting room. When you came to, you were someone else. I don’t yet have an explanation for why that is, and I hesitate to attribute it a psychological diagnosis—because everything in me is telling me it’s not. You’re still Will Graham. But you’re not the one who’s supposed to be _here._ ”

Will didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Hannibal paused. The words lingered in his head. And he questioned why he was so afraid to tell him the truth from the beginning. It seemed Hannibal was having an easier time processing the situation than Will was. Will closed his eyes as he attempted to gather his thoughts.

“And what am I looking for?”

“You tell me. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. This time, Will answered Hannibal with the same fervor he’d been given. He felt unbridled.

“I mean it! I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why I ended up back here in Baltimore. I don’t know why you’re standing in front of me—this you. I don’t know what I did to make this happen, or who’s making this happen, but it’s _devastating._ I look at you and I see _him_ , but your eyes aren’t _his_ eyes. You aren’t him.”

His eyes felt glassy and he struggled to contain it. Not thirty minutes earlier, he’d been sobbing on the man’s foyer carpet. But he wasn’t ready to lose it again so soon. He watched Hannibal’s eyes take in his expression—he wondered if the other man could feel the depth there, the reach of his meaning.

“And who is _he_?”

Will finally broke away, looking off toward the traffic and the bustle and sounds of the night coming to life around them. His breath came in shaky movements, and the same ache that brought him to his knees earlier came rushing through him once more. He brought his palm up to his chest to feel the race of his heartbeat, the crash of anguish riding adrenaline through his veins. He could feel it spreading like warmth, but an unwelcome and anxious warmth not unlike an oncoming tide. His voice felt lost to him now, so instead he answered in a whisper barely heard over the noise.

“My best friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a scene I had in my head. Enjoy!


End file.
